I Died in a Car Crash
by Moonbeam-987
Summary: "You die. You take away all of the happiness of those you leave behind. But, somehow they seem to move on, without you... That's it. The end." WARNING: Character death and mentions of suicidal thoughts.


I died in a car crash two days ago.

The date was October 25, 1986, a week before my 23rd birthday. I was driving down the road; I think I was on my way to work. I don't really remember. Everything's kind of foggy. You weren't there, so that has to be the only explanation. The windows were rolled down, and radio played softly as I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel along to the beat.

I was blissfully unaware. I was happy.

I didn't see them. They didn't see me. There were no alcohol fogged minds. No idiotic teenagers. No stupidity. We just simply didn't see each other.

The metal bent and crushed my body as my truck flipped off the road, landing in a deep ditch. There was pain. But, after a while, I couldn't feel anything. I wanted to cry out for help. I wanted to cry out for you. My voice wouldn't work. I could faintly hear sirens, but they weren't fast enough. I was already dead.

My truck looked like a waded up piece of tinfoil. It took the fire department three hours to untangle me from it. It was as if my body and the rusted, white metal had become one and there was no separating the two. When they finally retrieved me, I was damaged beyond recognition. It looked as though I had been forced through a meat grinder. My wallet stayed intact, in my pocket, so they were able to identify me.

I was the only casualty. The other driver survived along with his wife, who was in the passenger seat. He only had a bump on the head and a fractured wrist, and she had whiplash and a bloody nose. He walked away from the scene, hand-in-hand with his wife, while I was being placed in a body bag.

I knew you would be mortified.

As they bagged me up, they sent two officers to inform my mother. Told her that her first born son was eternally gone. They say she fainted, but for that I'm not too sure. She begged and pleaded for it not to be true, but time did not reverse itself. I did not see them. They did not see me. I was still dead.

My sister didn't find out until after she got out of school. She came home to find one of the local police cars parked outside of the house. Running inside she found our mother, weeping into her hands, as the officers bowed their heads in respect. She locked herself in her room when mother told her. Didn't come out once in these past two days. I don't blame her.

You were in the grocery store, buying things to make us for dinner. Old Mr. Jones's offered you his condolences. You didn't understand until he explained. You crashed right then, right there. He didn't know that you were unaware of what had taken place just hours before. I don't know how, but it slipped my mother's and sister's minds to find you. To tell you. I know to them you were just my best friend, but to me, you are so much more. You're the love of my life. I wish they would have remembered.

I wonder if my death will keep the two survivors up at night.

* * *

I died in a car crash three months ago.

My death hit the town hard. Everyone was mourning. Even people I didn't know were bringing casseroles to my mother, saying how much they would miss me. However, they won't miss me a year from now, or even another five months for that matter. Only the three of you would truly miss me, truly remember me. But that's good enough for me.

The funeral had been beautiful, or that's what everyone told my mother after it was over. Although, I find that standing around an urn of ashes to be not so beautiful. You didn't want to cremate me. You wanted me to be buried, not burned. But, who were you to say how I would be laid to rest? You're just my best friend. No, you're so much more. Nobody knows though. My mother had the final say. In her mourning state, she decided that if her baby couldn't have an open casket, then he wasn't being set up in front of everyone in a coffin. I was cremated and turned into a powdery grey ash in a matter of minutes. I don't know if I really agree with her logic, but what's done is done. The three of you scattered my ashes across the field behind my mother's house at sunset that day. Now, that was beautiful.

Pain still grips all of your chests at the mention of my name. Tears still stream down your faces, even though it feels you cried them all out. The three of you feel like you can't think, can't breathe without me there.

You're having the worst time coping out of the three of you. 'What if's plague your every waking moments. Your art, your life, has been thrown aside. You haven't even looked at a paintbrush in the last three months. You're destroying yourself, spiraling into a deep, dark abyss of depression that no one can get you out of. I want to reach for you, to pull you out. But I'm not there, which is what drove you to the gun. It's held up to your head, your finger shaky on the trigger. My sister walks in before you can do anything stupid to that pretty, little head of yours. She talks you down, telling you that things have to and will get better. That you just have to live long enough to find that out for yourself. You break that night. You tell her about us, the gun forgotten somewhere on the bedroom floor. I wish you would have picked up your paintbrush instead.

My mother, she's a wreck. Everything reminds her of me. She can't sleep at night. Tossing and turning, wondering what would have become of her son. Would he have settled down? Had children that looked exactly like him? Would he have been happy with his life when we was old and grey? All of these questions ran through her mind, and she cried herself to sleep, knowing she would never get the answer. The daytime wasn't any better. As she would walk down the sidewalk, people would stop her and try to talk about me in memory. She doesn't go out much anymore.

My little sister consoles herself by watching our homemade videos. Smiling faces move across the screen, captured in an unending loop of happiness. She watches them religiously. There is always a faint smile on her lips, but tears always make their appearance. My mother finds her in then living room like this multiple times. She tells my sister how she thinks it is unhealthy, how she thinks it is morbid to watch the tapes over and over again. You, however, encourage her. You tell her that if its what helps her get through the day, then to keep watching me through the lit screen. You know the both of you are broken, and you try to hold her together as much as you can. Sometimes you watch with her, but it's not that often.

You and my sister decide that you want to commemorate me in some way, seeing as you can't visit me at the cemetery. You buy a small sassafras tree. You laughed at the name as you bought it, and knew that I would have loved it's funny name. You and my sister plant it in the field where my ashes had once laid. They were probably scattered all the way to New Jersey by now, but now this is a way for you to visit me. After planting the tree, the two of you sit and talk to me. After that, the two of you visit me everyday. You tell me how much you miss me as tears cascade down your faces. I want to reply, tell you that I miss you too. I can't.

That year after the tree is planted, it looses all of its leafs. It looks dead all year around, but you continue to nurture and love it. You do what you do best. And I love that about you.

* * *

I died in a car crash four years ago.

A lot has happened and changed in these passing years. My sister is wiser, my mother looks a little less troubled, and you have started painting again. Birthdays and anniversaries have passed, family vacations have been taken, and my baby sister has graduated from high school. I hope she knows how proud I am.

The three of you still miss me dearly, but it's not the same as it was before. My sister no longer watches tapes of me every day. My mother sleeps through the night. You are no longer wishing to kill yourself. The three of you are slowly, but surely, moving on.

The once dead looking tree is now covered in vibrant green leafs, and growing more and more each day. You're proud of its growth and it makes you feel closer to me. You still visit everyday. My sister now only visits occasionally, but you are there every day. It's the same each day. You tell me how your day went, how your art is coming a long, and how much you miss me. You seem happier. You still cry yourself to sleep at night, but you hold it together during the day. Your life is restarting, and for that I'm thankful. I don't like seeing you so sad.

My mom has gotten better. She sleeps through the night now. Sometimes she has nightmares about me, but those have dwindled down tremendously from the time of when the accident happened. She is able to flip through old photo albums and watch those videos of me every now and then. She smiles down at my face that lays behind the shiny plastic while looking through the photo albums. My memory has dissipated from the town, and it is now a rarity that someone speaks of me. My mother is able to go out again. There are days where she doesn't shed a single tear, and there are days when she can't leave the house because of her sobbing fits. I guess some days are just better than others.

My sister is now a young lady. She has grown so much over the past four years that she is almost unrecognizable. She's beautiful and smart and kind. I'm proud to be her brother. I just wish I was there to tell her that. Sometimes she gives you longing glances. And sometimes you return them. I don't understand what they mean.

What do they mean?

* * *

I died in a car crash... I can't remember how long ago.

A decade? Maybe two?

The three of you seem to be okay now. I guess that's what happens? You've all finally moved on, without any memory of me.

Wait, no, that's wrong. The three of you still cry over me. I'm always on your minds even though you don't notice that much anymore. My mother, my sister, and you still remember me. Yes. I am still remembered.

You've become even more beautiful as you've aged. Although, something has changed. You don't visit the tree as much. You don't talk to me every day like you used to. You cry a lot less. What changed?

I don't exactly know how many days it's been, but you haven't talked to me in a while. Are you ignoring me? Wait, I just heard you. You're at the tree, sitting cross-legged in front of it, with your hands clasped tightly in your lap. The black dress pants and white button-up shirt look odd and out of place. You're speaking in a quiet tone, almost as if something is blocking your throat. You look troubled. Why are you troubled, Love?

You mumble something about marriage. You unclasp your hands and raise your left one up to the tree. A shiny gold ring glints on your ring finger.

You're married.

You bow you're head, almost as if in shame. The wind carries 'I'm sorry's and 'I still love you's across the field. You say you're happy, but there is sadness set deep in your eyes. You say that you wanted to marry me all those years ago, but that you had to move on at some point. I wonder who the lucky person is. My question is answered a few seconds later when a familiar face steps up to the tree.

Her face is older, but I recognize her immediately. It's my baby sister, plopping down next to you, wearing a wedding dress. She smiles a watery smile at you before taking your hand in hers. She leans her head on your shoulder for support as tears begin to track down her face. You begin to crumble, too. The pain on your face as you lift your head up to the sky almost distracts me from your words.

"Kenny, I hope you're happy for us. This... It's been really hard for us these past fifteen years. I-It's been so hard, Kendall, but somehow we were able to fix each other. We've been di-discussing this for a while. I-I don't want you t-to think I've stopped l-loving you. I still love y-you. And I h-hope you're happy f-for us."

You look down at her, making sure that what you said was okay. She nods, understanding what you're asking with your eyes. The two of you sit there for a while longer, just gazing up at the tree as the sun set behind it. By the time you two get up, stars are dotting the sky and the air around you is getting colder. You give one last look at the tree, a happy smile playing across your face, before you take my sister's hand and walk back towards the house.

* * *

I died in a car crash so many years ago.

Cars and trucks are made so differently now. The frames are more sturdy, less bendable, and a car can have up to eight airbags in it. People might as well be speeding down the highway in padded boxes when compared to vehicles of the past. Cases like mine rarely exist now. There are less fates that end like mine did. Sure, there are the exceptions, but who said vehicles were completely indestructible...

Many seasons come and go, children are born into this fickle world, and life moves on. James and Katie now have a family of their own. I just guess that's how these kinds of stories go.

You die. You take away all of the happiness of those you leave behind. But, somehow they seem to move on, without you... That's it. The end.

* * *

_Inspired by Vienna Teng's song Passage_


End file.
